The Overflow
by Ninazadzia
Summary: As he sinks into the water, Finnick muses about the three women that he loves. Finnick/Annie, Finnick/Johanna, and slight Finnick/Katniss. Written for Ella for the 2014 GGE.


**The Overflow**

By Ninazadzia

I was three when I learned how to swim. That's young, even in District Four. Nevertheless, I come from a long line of swimmers. It's what my family is known for. Allegedly, we were champion athletes even before civilization collapsed a good seven centuries ago. We still have gold and silver medals in our family hope chest – "from our ancestors," my mother told me. I don't know their names, but I know that those people (my blood, my family) were, in their day and age, the best swimmers in the world.

By the time I'd turned thirteen, I could beat just about anyone, except maybe the older kids, at any stroke. I was an athlete to watch, they'd say. And this strength would serve me well, especially in the Hunger Games.

In fact, the headlines ran for weeks following my Games. "Finnick Odair: The Youngest Victor in History. Deadly in the Water."

Water was, is, and always will be, my closest ally.

But for some reason, floating took me years to learn. I could dive and I could swim and I could hold my breath for upwards of five minutes, all before I was able to float on top of water. If I didn't tread the water, even a little, I'd always wind up sinking to the bottom.

"You have to be still, Finn."

That's the advice Annie gave me. Be still. Relax. The water isn't going anywhere, but you are. "Pretend like you're sleeping. Just let your back float to the surface. That's it, Finn, that's good …"

_There's no use being so nostalgic, Odair._

I open my eyes. I stand alone, on the southern shores of District Four. The sand feels scratchy beneath my feet. My hair is so long that I have to keep brushing it out of my eyes. Johanna keeps giving me a hard time about - "You're supposed to be a sex God. Get a damn haircut." I look out over the horizon, where the sun hangs low in the late afternoon sky. It's awfully peaceful, considering the turmoil that I've endured.

I'm alive. I've survived the rebellion. We won.

_But for a damn high price,_ I think. Because every time I close my eyes, I hear Annie's mangled screams. Annie, who is currently wasting away in her bedroom, with Johanna as a makeshift babysitter. Annie, who is seven months pregnant, with my baby. Annie, who doesn't sleep through the night anymore.

In retrospect, it wasn't much worse before. But for some reason, it's intolerable now.

I made the mistake of telling that to Johanna. It was in desperation that I called her, asking if she could look after Annie while I worked during the week. Johanna wouldn't have been my first choice, but she's the only choice I have. And it didn't take much convincing. "Well, Seven's a shit-show, now," she'd said. "And it'd be nice to get some sunshine."

So, she came. She's been here for four months now. She's not leaving, not in the near future, at least as far as I know. God knows what I'd do without her at this point. Things will only get harder, after the baby comes.

Annie. Johanna. It's a strange combination to have under my roof.

This was something I told Katniss, and over the phone, at that. "Really?" she'd asked, dryly. "How so?"

"God, Kat. You're not going to make me say it, are you?"

"Say what?"

"Come on. You know. Clearly, she's told you."

"I don't know anything." She pauses. "Actually, that's a lie. I do."

Either Johanna had told her, or she'd figured it out herself. My guess was most likely a combination of both.

I didn't respond for a second. "Finnick," she'd said, quietly. "It's okay."

"It's the furthest thing from okay." I'd clutched my forehead in my hands.

"You're here. You're alive. And having two women live under your roof is a step up from being a prostitute, I'd think. And, anyway," she clears her throat, "I guess I can relate."

"Really."

"Yes, really. Peeta and Gale, you know. It's hard, loving two people at the same time."

At this point, I didn't have any more to say. I hung up the phone.

* * *

I wade into the warm, clear water. On a late August day, the ocean is peaceful. Warm. Inviting.

I begin to swim. Some days, I'll go far out, until I can't see the shoreline anymore. But today, I stay pretty close to land, and only go to where the water is about a foot over my head. As I stop swimming, I roll onto my back. I have no issue floating anymore.

"You're so stupid, Katniss," I laugh. I don't love two people. I love three.

The first is the huntress, the Mockingjay, the sister I never had.

The second is insane. She's my epic love. She's the one carrying my child.

And the third? She's headstrong, and blunt. She's fierce. She happens to be both my best friend and my greatest complication.

Serenity suddenly comes over me. _Let the water work its magic, _I think.

And so, I remember.

* * *

In this world, there are very few people as magnetic as Katniss Everdeen.

Before I'd even met her, I knew absolutely everything about her. I knew her name, I knew her family. I knew about Peeta, and Gale. I knew that she was a huntress, and that she was terrifically skilled from a bow. This breadth of knowledge came from no other source than the 74th Hunger Games, with a few bits of information here and there provided by Haymitch.

"When you meet her, brace yourself," he'd warned. "She's a tough nut to crack."

And, oh, what an understatement that was. Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, was cold as stone when we'd met. I wasn't surprised at all, given where we were (the Capitol) and what our purpose was (televised slaughtering.) Even then, a part of me wanted to weasel its way into Katniss Everdeen's heart. I had that effect on most women, and I wanted to have that effect on her.

I didn't, obviously. And I learned soon enough that I didn't need to. I was naive for thinking that could I affect someone so strong, so hard-headed. What I didn't anticipate was that it would be the other way around. If anything, Katniss Everdeen had an effect on _me._

After the 75th Games, during those first few weeks in District Thirteen, we'd find each other. This was when we'd thought Peeta and Annie dead in the capitol. We'd climb into bed and throw our arms around each other. There was never any romance, or sex, only the pounding of two lost hearts in an underground chamber.

"I'm sorry about Annie," she'd whisper.

"I'm sorry about Peeta," I'd reply.

* * *

All of that bullshit, about never forgetting your first love? It's not bullshit.

Ironically, I'd met Annie the week before my Games. I'd known of her father for quite a few years (he was friends with my family), but I'd never met his elusive daughter. "That's because she's not right in the head," my mom had told me, quietly. "They say she has an extra chromosome, or a gene malfunction. I really don't know. Point is that she's _off,_ that girl."

When her family came over for dinner (a mere six days before my Reaping), she didn't strike me as having a "gene malfunction," or anything of that nature. All I paid attention to that night was her warm, inviting smile, and the way her skin seemed to radiate in the candlelight.

* * *

I ran to her in desperation, after the Games.

For the rest of my teenage life, my classmates, my peers, and my fellow Victors were all too real for me. Everywhere I went, the Games were thrown in my face. Yes, I'd trained for it my entire life. Yes, I'd won. Before I'd left, Mags had told me, "time heals all wound." So I walked into that arena, with my head held high and my chest puffed out, knowing that Time was my security blanket, and that _Time _would ultimately protect me.

Days, weeks, and months passed. It seemed that no amount of time could take me where I wanted to go.

I didn't want to be in a better place, or to die, or anything like that. I'd simply wanted to _go._

It was then that she drew me in. Annie Cresta, with her stories of mermaids and mermen, and all of the fables she'd either heard of or created herself. We'd tread water hours for a time, talking about how _Atlantis_ was a real place, _paradise_ existed, and that if we just talked about it enough, it would feel like we were there. She wasn't going through anything herself-not at the time-but she knew that I was. She gave up hours and days of her time just to console someone who (for once) was deemed even more crazy than she was. It's a debt I would never be able to repay.

Until I did.

* * *

She was crazy before. And then, the Games destroyed her.

Things changed, when she came home. We changed. My previous one-sided dependence on her became codependence. In between being prostituted across the Capitol and mentoring other Victors, I'd come home, take my girl by the hand, and we'd disappear into the dream world we'd constructed together.

"Someday this will all be over," she'd whispered. She'd looked me in the eye, and very levelly, very sanely said, "Some day, we'll be free."

Some day.

I've now lived to see "some day." And even now, I don't love it.

* * *

Johanna Mason.

* * *

I feel my body sink down for a minute. My breath quickens, and I have to remind myself to float,_ damnit_, because I'm still in the middle of the water.

_Pull it together, pull it together._

I take a deep breath. I look around myself, into the abyss that lies beneath me._ She's not here,_ I remind myself. _She's not with you right now._

I sigh. I turn onto my back again, and float listlessly through the water.

I laugh to myself, darkly. "It's just like you, Johanna," I say.

The mere thought of her almost has the power to make me drown.

* * *

Johanna Mason and I happened a grand total of _twice._

The first time was (as us Victors dub it) "strictly business." Some Capitol folk have a fetish for watching Victors "get it on," so a certain Adolphus Wexley specifically rented Johanna and I for the night. "I always liked something about you two," he'd said, with a sly grin. "The gorgeous Finnick Odair, and the bloodthirsty, sarcastic Johanna Mason . . ."

It was a calculated, surgical, choreographed performance, not an expression of love. Honestly, it wasn't even an expression of attraction. Strictly business. I'd barely known Johanna before that night (other than what I'd seen on television), and I'd been prostituted with other Victors before-what difference did it make?

* * *

And then she fell of the map for four weeks. She wasn't in the Capitol, she wasn't in the tabloids. Poof.

Her family had been killed, I'd been told. She'd stood up to Snow. "I'd rather be dead than treated like a piece of meat," she'd snarled. "I'm not a fucking sex-slave."

So I took it upon myself to visit her. Ninety percent out of strict impulse, and ten percent as a friendly gesture.

"I'm so sorry, Johanna. About your family."

Okay, so my start definitely wasn't the best. I'd showed up, unannounced, on her doorstep. No fanfare, no flowers-not even a card to express my condolences. And, Christ, did she glare me down. "What are you doing here?" she'd demanded.

I'd cleared my throat. "I know that we don't know each other very well. But I just want you to know-"

"What?" she snapped. "That you think I'm brave? That I'm so fucking tough for standing up to Snow? I've gotten too much of that these last few weeks, Odair, so save it."

Anger flashed across her face. But I knew that it wasn't directed towards me. "I admire your spirit."

She'd rolled her eyes. "Fuck you."

She'd turned on her heel to leave.

"I've also been doing this just a little longer than you have," I'd called after her. "Being a Victor, I mean." She'd stopped in her tracks, and glanced over her shoulder. "Let me guess-now that your family's dead, you're scared about who's next. Your friends, your relatives, your former teachers?"

She turned back around. She crossed her arms. "Maybe," she said, tensely. "Or, maybe, I could just shut them out. Save them the suffering. If they're not attached to me, Snow won't be able to hurt them."

I shrugged. "Maybe," I took a step forward, and uncrossed my arms. "But I know what it's like, to shut people out. It drives you insane. You're going to need friends, Johanna." My mouth curls up into a small smile. "So that's what I'm offering."

She scoffed. "Your friendship? God. You're as much of a sap as the tabloids say you are."

I shrugged. "Say what you want, but I'm Finnick Odair. Snow might be able to kill your relatives or your friends, but he can't kill me. Just like he can't kill you."

* * *

She opened up to me much more quickly than I thought she would.

I guess that's what happens, when you're desperate for friendship.

* * *

The second time "we" happened was an accident. And it wasn't strictly business.

It was rushed, and it was in a drunken haze, a few months ago. Just after the rebellion ended.

I was visiting her, in District Seven. We'd been dancing on tables at a local bar, laughing to the sound of the music, celebrating for the first time in forever. I didn't have to feel, and I didn't have to remember. One minute, I was waving a bottle around. The next, I was doubled over in the floor. She ran to my side, terrified, and I pulled her in.

"Finnick! God, are you okay?"

It happened just like that. On top of the world one minute-and then hot, salty tears flowed from my eyes the next. "She's not the same," I said.

"What?"

"She's not the_ same_," I blubbered. We were behind the counter of a bar. Everyone had long gone home.

I thought about the cove that Annie and I used to go to, where we would muse about Atlantis, and paradise, and _going._ I thought about her screaming at night. I thought about her pregnancy (which was still in its early days), and how she could barely go more than ten minutes without someone at her side.

And I'd stubbornly, foolishly, horribly left her in District Four, with only our housekeeper to watch over her.

I was drunk, and the world was spinning, so it didn't occur to me until hours later that Johanna had been on top of me. She was stroking my hair, sshing and cooing at me, trying to calm me down. And all the while I kept saying, "she's not the same, she's not the same. We don't go anywhere anymore."

"It's okay, Finnick, it's okay." She hoisted me up. "That's it, c'mon. Let's get back to my place."

* * *

I wandered into her bedroom, that night.

"Thank you," I'd whispered.

She'd nodded in the darkness. "It doesn't need to be the same, you know. People change. It's for the better, sometimes."

I surveyed Johanna Mason. I glanced her up and down, and took in the sight of her short her, her tanned legs, her fiery, tortured eyes. I'd never found her physically attractive, or anything of that nature.

And yet, as I stood there, it hit me like a train.

"Do you remember," I asked, throatily, "Adolphus Wexley?"

She'd nodded. "What an asshole."

"Well," I started, very slowly. "Wouldn't we just show him up if we did it on our terms, then?"

She laughed, but quickly stopped, noticing the look on my face. Her expression darkened. "You're not serious," she'd said, firmly.

"Maybe I am."

"You're drunk."

I shrugged. "Again, maybe I am."

"Finnick-"

"Johanna," I said. "We're both going to hell anyway. What difference does it make?"

So I kissed her. And she didn't stop me. And then she wrapped her legs around my waist, and sunk into me, and the two of us were on the bed, somersaulting in her linen sheets. _She's drunk, you're drunk, you have a wife at home and a baby on the way._

And for some reason-on that night-it was all too easy for me to forget, and just _go._

* * *

I feel my body sink into the water again, just a little deeper.

I open my eyes. My breathing-as rapid as ever-finally slows. I look to my left, and off in the distance, I can make out the speck that is my house. _That's where Johanna is. That's where Annie is_.

Johanna and I act like that night never happened. _Maybe she doesn't know that it did_, I tell myself. She was drunk, much more drunk than I'd ever seen her. She could've easily thought it was some twisted, ludicrous dream. Besides-I was drunk, too.

And deep down (in the recesses of my mind), the voice speaks.

_It wasn't just drunken sex, and you know it._

I sigh.

I look to the water. I look to the beautiful ocean, and to the world beneath my feet. Fish of an assortment of colors (reds, blues, and yellows) swim between my toes. The coral glistens in the late afternoon sun.

Paradise. _Beneath my feet this entire time,_ I muse.

So I sink back down. I hold my breath. I open my eyes, and I look into this world.

Here, I don't need to crack the huntress. I don't need to love my wife, or to command myself to stop feeling for my friend. No, I don't need to do any of that down here.

I can be. I can _go._

"Serenity," I whisper.

* * *

**_Time it took us_**  
**_To where the water was_**  
**_That's what the water gave me_**  
**_And time goes quicker_**  
**_Between the two of us_**  
**_Oh, my love, don't forsake me_**  
**_Take what the water gave me_**

**_-What the Water Gave Me, _**Florence + the Machine

* * *

**A/N: Written for the lovely Ella for the 2014 GGE.**

**Thank you for giving me such a beautiful prompt, mi amour. I'm so sorry it wasn't a Haymitch centered fic, but this idea popped into my head, so I kind of just took it and ran with it :D**

**Thank you so much for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated.**

**xx Nina**


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